She led me by the hands
saying she would never leave me.

I was happy
for once believing
and loved her more.

The little I had in the purse
was hers
saved nothing willingly
sure as I was
one day
her love would save me.

When I fed enough winds
to her wings
she flew away to a pasture
better and greener.

She led me by the hands
and for once I believed
she wasn't Miss Leading.

when i
look back
at all the roles
i’ve played
throughout my life,
at all the characters
i’ve had to create,
all the versions
and variations
of myself
i have
pretended to be…
it’s crazy to think
how i really don’t
know me

i think i never
really wanted to
because i am too afraid
of being unloved
and unwanted

i use all these masks
to hide the pain
and cover up the tears
that have been pulling my strings
for most of my years
stopping me from
taking risks
because of
all my fears

i’m torn in two
trying to get to you
and wondering
if you’re
just going
to grow bored
of me, too
once the music stops
and the bells
fall off my shoes
will you like me when i’m me?
or do you want me to be you?

these are the questions
that rotate around
my brain
walking around
my mind
with thousands of tiny
hands and feet
tickling and causing vibrations
sending me down
into countless spirals
that never end well

i have been sick
for as long
as i can remember
and i don’t
know
that i’ll ever
be fully
in my right mind
there are
always little monsters
in my head
chasing me around
and there’s nowhere
i can hide
i am always exhausted
no matter how much
i rest
and i guess
being crazy
is just what
i do best

When I'm stuck in a poem
Do I come out wounded or healed
Are my emptiness deeper or filled
Do I smile or feel a lump
Or in that wondrous bump
I jump in the joy of crying
And cry in the joy of knowing.

You have so much to tell
And upon you when I dwell
I'm changed and evolved
The exchanges lifting me up
Adding eyes to my eyes
You take me through sunset and sunrise.

If I'm eager to listen I learn
You give my life a new turn
Each poet is a unique book
Transforms me, my outlook
The young makes me grownup
The old makes me a child..

Such is the magic of poetry!

I'm grateful you took me in
Gave my life a new meaning
Gave your shoulders to cry
Offered your heart to dry.

Life has a short span
But I'll be here and hear you
As long as I can.

Whenever I think and have it strongly willed
I fly to the place where stands the play field
to run in the sun and burn in the heat
be again amongst faces that haven't changed a bit.

Catch they cry out the ball in the sky
coming down fast tho soared up high
staking my heart I roll on the green
both hands grabbing to smother the spin.

Who'll be in which team they call out loud
to be in the game is enough to make proud
blazes like lightning the foot with the ball
attack and defend, rise if you fall.

The bruised little frames are smeared with dust
have given their all though win isn't a must
so in this field they'll again come to play
the children of past and then another day.

i dream of you
even when i’m awake
fading in
and out
of each day
as they all blend
and blur into one

nothing has been the same
since i first learned your name
and my heart hurts all the time
because i want you so badly
and you’ll never be mine

time stops for me
every now and then
when you pop up
into my life
and give me a reason
to smile again

i don’t want it to end

but it’s not for me
i’m not for it
no, i’m just a pile of ****
and the smiles i wear
always fade away
so quickly

a heart
that desires
so badly
to be free

a mind
that never
knows
just how it
should be

a head
that’s
much, much
too big
that
no
protective
headgear
can ever fit

two eyes
that are
sometimes
filled with
the entire world
oceans
mountains
and trees
birds
and flowers
and
angry bees
but sometimes
these
eyes
are
vacant
trying their best
not to hold
anything close
to
the chest
not to let
any feelings
or people
nest

a person
or something
trying to
resemble one

afraid to
hold anything close
terrified to let
anything
go
wanting
to explore
the world
but too scared
to be
anything
other
than
a
pathetic
little
girl

a body
a shell
a nightmare,
a living hell
a no one
a nothing
just
crying
and
cussing
and
hoping
for
something…

Draw child, mark on the wall
before life is dull
and you may not even
put your pain on the paper,
has to scribble mindless hieroglyphs
to qualify in some cruel test
and find a job that'll make you forget
where your heart is.

Do your paintings on the wall child
to your heart's content
even if they mean nothing
only mark the life's time
most well spent.

Spread your marks freely child
on the wall, floor, glass, wood
before your age suddenly vanishes
and the world binds you
with the shackles of rules
your freedom gone for good.

I won't scold you child
I would rather love the short time
you are wild and
the sweetest rhyme
my world would ever hear.

Leave child your marks behind
leave them firm and bold
so when I grow old
senile and dull
you will still smile on my eyes
from the wall.

when does the poem end?


creation is never ending,
the earth is endlessly morphing

but you lean back and say
enough
not because the poem
is finished,
for it is never finished,
because an exhalation feels
satisfying, releasing

but the poem never ends,
nor does the need to

exhale

not with the final .


the next poem is

but a

continuation

of the previous poem;

a continuation

of you~poem,

inhaling

and

exhaling

& morphing.

Sat Jan 7
7:57am